To Know or Not to Know
by DieWildnis
Summary: He didn't want to know. But he did. (Aww… Coach does care about Stiles.) No slash. Coach's perspective from the latter half of 3B.
1. To Know or Not to Know

**To Know or Not to Know**

 **by Nuuru**

* * *

 **Summary:** He didn't want to know. But he did. (Aww… Coach does care.)  
 **Rating:** T for language and perceived violence of an arrow and suicide runs.  
 **Characters:** Coach Bobby Finstock, Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Mr. Yukimura, (brief appearance of Deputy Parrish)  
 **Tags:** S03E18: Riddled, S03E19: Letharia Vulpina, Post-Season 3, AU FTD ending in Second chapter (always an optional read)

* * *

To say that Stilinski was, well... Stilinski – all hyperactivity spazziness with small interesting tidbits of knowledge totally unrelated to what he should be learning and a horrible, horrible, and he meant HORRIBLE lacrosse player, Stilinski hadn't been really, Stilinski. Bobby Finstock might say that it started back in October, if he really thought about it – brushing off the dark circles under Stilinski's eyes, a bit quieter than normal, and worse focus – or more adept at focusing, but not on the things he should be like what Coach Finstock was saying – as just a thing of his imagination. Actually, Bobby felt kind of thankful for the peace. Then came that whole William Barrow incident.

Really, Bobby had no idea what that kid was thinking pulling the fire alarm. Sheesh. He had hoped he wouldn't have to see Stilinski for a week due to suspension, but the principal had to go and forgive him because it turned out that Stilinski was right and had acted on what he thought what was the right thing to do. Bad methods regardless, but how did Stilinski know that psychotic teen-killer Barrow was still in the school?

He didn't want to know.

Life would go back to normal, right?

WRONG!

Bobby sat on his couch and just clicked off the television, stretching and thinking of his sweet and wonderful bed when his phone blared an obscene sound.

"God! Shut up!" He pulled the phone out of his pocket and thankfully it did quiet, only to be replaced by an automated voice message.

"A civil authority has issued an Amber Alert Emergency for the following counties and areas. "A pause, then a man's voice, "Beacon Hills."

Then the automated voice started again, "At 1200 am on November 3rd, 2011 effective until 0300 am. A 17-year-old teen male, Stiles Stilinski, is lost, injured, or otherwise missing last seen in the area around Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. If you have any information, please call the Beacon Hills Police Department."

The phone blared three more times before falling silent. Bobby stared at his phone and the now faded message concerning one of his students.

"What the hell?!" It was all he could think of to say. He didn't even know that he got Amber Alerts on his phone. Did everyone get them? Wait– Wait– Stiles, no Stilinski had disappeared in the middle of the night. What was going on? Wait, wait. He didn't want to know. Not now. Not ever.

Bobby looked up towards his window. The weather was already cold, seeping through the lower levels of his house already. It was too expensive to heat at night. At least it wasn't snowing. But every idiot knew that snow actually raised the temperature by creating a warm pocket of air between the clouds and the ground. Tonight would be blistering cold with clear skies and Bobby looked at the weather app on his phone: 21mph wind shear.

"Oh, that's cold."

Hypothermic levels of cold. No, he thought. Possibly hypothermic.

He got up and padded towards the window and glanced out. Dark and bitter as the day he was born.

"He'll be fine. They'll find him. It's Stilinski." Bobby mumbled to himself, but he wasn't sure if he believed it himself. "Besides, the sheriff will find him."

That's right. If Bobby Finstock knew anything about their local Sheriff and Stilinski, it was that the sheriff loved his son. That man would go to the ends of the earth and back if he had to. He could tell the moment the man stepped into his office for parent teacher conferences last year. Feeling slightly better, Bobby resigned himself to going back to bed. Making his way upstairs, changing, brushing his teeth, and falling into his own soft covers. Yet sleep would not come. No amount of tossing and turning and fooling himself into reassurance would help. Grabbing his phone, he looked up the number for Beacon Hills PD and tapped the number, immediately dialing them.

It rang twice then a male voice answered. "Beacon Hills Sheriff's Department. This is Deputy Parrish. How many I help you?"

"Uh…" Bobby started. Don't be a creeper, he thought. "I got an Amber Alert on my phone about a half hour ago for, uh, Stiles Stilinski. He's a student of mine at Beacon Hills High. I was wondering if…" He trailed off, not sure how to end that question. Seriously. He was calling after Stilinski's– STILINSKI'S well-being. He'd never admit it in any sort of heartfelt or otherwise manner and it sounded way too mushy in his head, but he did care about the kid.

"They're following up on a lead. Do you have any information regarding the case?"

So formal. Bobby swallowed. "No, no. I don't. I'm just worried."

"If you like," Deputy Parrish continued, "I can call once he's been found. I won't be able to give you any details besides until the Sheriff feels the need to release such information, but seeing as it's his son, I doubt that."

"Yeah. Understandable. Completely," Bobby said absently scratching his head. "Uh, thank you. I'll let you get back to work."

"No, thank you. What's your name?"

Bobby could hear typing in the background. Shit. He sounded like a creeper. "It's coach. Coach Bobby Finstock."

"Thank you, Coach Finstock."

Bobby pulled the phone away and hung up. "Well, that wasn't awkward AT ALL."

But they had a lead. Nothing to be worried about then and only a half hour since the alert and already the Police were on their merry way finding his spaz of a student.

"It's Friday," he thought out loud. "With this whole ordeal, I doubt he'll be in classes tomorrow."

He neither enjoyed nor dreaded having Stilinski in class, unlike Greenberg. God. Greenberg. But Stilinski was one of the few students who actively participated in classes which to any teacher was a GODSEND. Teaching high school kids was challenging, but at least it wasn't middle school. Teaching _those_ rebellious little shitheads was the worst, except for those classes where every single one of them just stared at him with wide terrified eyes and dead silence. Like freshman. Fresh out of middle school. Which is why he yelled and allowed them to get on his nerves. It was more for his own benefit than theirs. Well, partially theirs. Grow some balls or something like that. Bobby stopped and gripped his covers tight. Oh god. Middle schoolers. Thinking about even possibly teaching those arrogant little hormonal brats was too much.

Bobby rolled onto his side. Sleep. Think happy thoughts. Like Peter Pan. But he was probably a middle schooler, or aged like one. Oh god. Sleep. Lacrosse. Sleep. Punching Greenberg. Sleep. Making his students run suicides. And…sleep. And he did. Until about an hour and half later his phone rang. Bleary-eyed and grumbling about god-forsaken hours, he glanced at the caller ID: Beacon Hills Police Department.

Sitting up, he answered more irritated than he intended. "What?"

"Coach Finstock? This is Deputy Parrish with the Beacon Hills PD regarding your call earlier."

"Yes?" He asked, less irritated now. Or tryingly.

"They found Stiles. He's all right. He'll be at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital for observation through tomorrow if you would like to visit. The Sheriff said it was all right."

"Uh, thank you." Bobby said then mumbled. "That takes a load off my chest."

"As does us all, Coach. You have a good night."

"You too."

Deputy Parrish hung up first this time. Sighing, Bobby dropped back into his covers. Thank god. With that, he dropped off to sleep once more.

He wasn't surprised to see the e-mail sitting at the top of his notifications when he got in the school the next morning, coffee in hand. All the short note said was that Stilinski had been sleepwalking (Sleepwalking? How'd he get out of the house?! Didn't they lock their doors? Unless Stilinski was just as clever asleep as he was awake. Oh god.) and gotten himself lost, hence the Amber Alert. He was found at 1:56 am, currently resting in the hospital, and would be out sick for the day. The message was decidedly vague like all messages to teachers regarding their student's whereabouts and going's on. He was thankful for that.

Once again, Bobby brushed it off and continued on threatening students, blow-horn in hand. "Power's out, but class is STILL ON!"

The sun was bright outside, the air surprisingly warm. Today was a good day for suicide runs. That brought joy to Coach's heart. Twenty minutes later, they were out on the field, and he was having a wonderful good time watching Greenberg flail every time he spun back around and ran. While the young adult sucked at everything, it was actually Scott McCall who was the space case today. No wonder why. Seeing McCall all morose in P.E. left Bobby thinking that there was something more to Stilinski's nighttime stroll than just a bout of sleepwalking.

That's when Bobby remembered the gradual decline of Stilinski's energy the month prior. Was is stress? Exhaustion? Sleep deprivation? He recalled the new history teacher, Yukimura asking something about Stilinski only a week ago.

Yukimura caught him in the lounge during their lunch break, Finstock hovering over the coffee machine as it dribbled slowly into his mug. And some lovely person brought donuts too. Yukimura popped his head in the door, glancing about, finding Bobby alone enjoying his savory although unhealthy meal.

"Coach Finstock?"

"Call me Bobby." He said, halting his grumbles about needing new coffee machines but thanking the lord of donuts for existing.

"You teach Stiles, correct?"

Bobby turned to face Yukimura fully. "Oh god. What did he do now?"

Yukimura looked taken aback. "He hasn't done anything, actually. Moreover, I was curious if he had any medical issues that only you might be aware of. I know he's on the lacrosse team."

Bobby huffed. "The only problem medically or otherwise that Stilinski has is ADHD. And an odd, horrIFIC fascination with murders."

"I see." Yukimura nodded. "Thank you for your time."

Yukimura turned to go and just as he had his hand on the door knob, Bobby, for all his not wanting to know, wanted to know. Medical problems were never a good thing. And if Yukimura or any teacher was concerned, he had to look into it.

"Wait, wait. Hold up. He's on the team. If there's something medically up with the kid, I should know. What happened?"

Yukimura smiled, although it was more of a grimace. "I'm not sure, but in class today, Stiles appeared to have, well, no small amount of sudden onset anxiety. I think he was having the beginnings of a panic attack. Do you know anything about that?"

Bobby didn't say anything, then nodded. It was in his medical file, that he had a history of it, but it hadn't resurged in years, so he never really paid attention to it. He'd even forgot about that one little blip in Stilinski's file until now. Bobby took a sip of his coffee and said, "Thank you. I'll keep an eye on him."

Friday passed and Monday and Tuesday came and Stilinski seemed just fine. And Bobby swore that Stilinski was the one at fault for unscrewing almost all the things in his office, but he had no proof. Aside from that damning grin. Stilinski was fine if he was pulling pranks. Wednesday…he didn't remember seeing Stilinski Wednesday. He didn't have classes with him then and Thursday he seemed fine. Only Thursday night did Stilinski's unconscious mind decide to take a stroll who-knows-where.

It was like an itch. He had to know, even if he told himself he didn't want to know, especially with McCall looking like he lost both his testicles all day. He didn't mean that jokingly this time. McCall couldn't look more dejected. His other half was in the hospital and never having been married, Bobby could only imagine what it was like to have the person closest to you not doing well. Waiting till the end of the period, Bobby watched from his office door as the boys got dressed and rushed out the door. Just as McCall was getting up to leave, Bobby called out, "McCall, a word."

The teen came into his office with that deer in the headlights look. "Umm…yes, Coach?"

Bobby leaned up against his desk, folding his arms. "Now, McCall, you've been a bit off today."

"Sorry Coach."

"No, don't apologize," he paused, then sighed. "How's Stilinski?"

"What?"

"Jeeze Louise, McCall, you've been out of it all day and checking your phone every chance you get. I know what happened last night."

"You did? You do?" Scott visibly paled.

Bobby shook his head. "It's called Amber Alert, McCall. Look it up. You two may be almost eighteen, but you're still minors. I swear everyone with WEA got that godawful alert. You'd think they'd change the sound to something less annoying."

"Oh." Again with the deer-headlights look.

"Now answer my question."

McCall glanced away, gripping his phone before sliding it into his pocket. "They don't know, but they're doing tests this evening. Stiles has been asleep most of today, so I haven't heard from him…"

It seemed everyone was in the dark and the situation might be more serious than a little sleepwalking in the middle of the night if doctors were doing tests.

"Make sure he comes back in one piece, McCall."

"What?"

Bobby rolled his eyes, getting up from his place and gesturing McCall towards the door. "I can't actually put Greenberg into play now can I?"

It may have been cruel and cold, only wanting Stilinski back on the team because everyone knew how much he hated Greenberg. Greenberg who couldn't graduate. Greenberg, the super senior three times in a row. Greenberg the 21-year old high school student. It was pathetic. But that, and he meant about Stilinski coming back, wasn't the truth. It was just his way of saying he cared.

McCall nodded. "Right Coach."

"Get out of my office."

McCall ducked out, not saying anything.

"I swear you kids'll be the death of me," he grumbled before turning off the lights and heading to teach his next Econ class.

Little did he know, three days later, that just happened.

"You're not going to die." Stiles had said.

Oh no. Uh-uh. He was dying.

"I'M GONNA DIE."

He swore he died on that trail. Forget the second Amber Alert regarding Stilinski on Saturday morning. Forget that the Amber Alert that said Stilinski had run away or was kidnapped from the hospital and he was missing for two whole days. Nothing paled in comparison to the fact that he had an ARROW in his ABDOMEN.

Okay, he couldn't exactly blame Stilinski about firing that arrow into him. Stilinski seemed to be the one who had warned them. And this time, he truly did not want to know what Stilinski had been up to for two days. If it ended with him on pain of death and archaic forms of weaponry impeding his skin and fleshy hide, no way José. He will be quietly resting in the hospital with hopefully lovely nurses to look after him. With no unhealthy amount of free ice cream and orange juice that they kept in those little fridges underneath their desks.

That's where he stayed for a single day, or rather until he was no longer under the influence of anesthesia and lethargy inducing pain medicine. He was a teacher and it was America, so health insurance sucked. On multiple levels of suckiness. He seriously did not get paid enough to teach high school, specifically at Beacon Hills High School.

Once home, Bobby called Principal Thomas, letting his boss know he was all right and that he'll be back to work next Monday. A week off was all he needed, thank you. It was all his paid sick days could afford for this year….so early in the year to use them all up. It almost brought a tear to Coach's eye…and not the good kind of tears. This was like rejection. It was causing him physical pain. God. He was in actual physical pain.

He watched sports, deciding he didn't want to know what was going on at all, refusing to turn on the local news, his phone, only accepting to look at his work e-mail. He needed to communicate with the substitutes for both the sports teams and his econ and P.E. class. It was the first day of his sick leave and he didn't want any nonsense to deal with, to think about, to even consider while he recovered. He didn't care dammit. But on Wednesday morning, as he stared at the little blip of a message in his work inbox informing him about sick students for the day. Bobby opened it and began typing up the names into the doc of excused absences for the subs to know about. He couldn't help seeing Stilinski's name on that same list. He already knew Stilinski was having a few hospital visits, and came back home, despite looking worse than ever, but whole. Safe. Sound. More or less.

Yet, this vague, but rather encompassing message that teachers don't usually get made his coming week of recovery look like nothing compared to the two weeks Stilinski had been or would be having.

 _In regards to our junior student, Stiles Stilinski, the Sheriff has informed the school that Stiles will not be joining us for the next three days and possibly longer. Please mark his absence as excused in your records. His father admitted Stiles to Eichen House for observation due to recent events. On Friday, Stiles had an MRI that revealed he may have a brain disease. Please, keep this to yourselves so as to not alarm any students and if you happen to be religious, please keep the Stilinski family in your prayers._

 _Principal Thomas._

Well, if that wasn't a punch to the gut, Coach Bobby Finstock didn't know what was. Stilinski was odd, sure, somewhat annoying hyperactive ADHDness: to the brim. But he was 17 and even Bobby knew that no one should have a brain disease that young, much less be admitted to a nuthouse. He didn't want to admit it either, but over the last two and a half years, he'd grown to have a soft spot for the kid.

And now, he was going to make a point of avoiding feeling any feelings and watch as much football, basketball, and hockey he could possibly watch in a single week. Because really, he didn't want to know. He'd broken his rule of not knowing and it was coming back to bite him in the ass.

The week passed with little to-do about students, school functions, or any craziness he truly, deeply, and very heartfelt-ly didn't want to know about. And he thanked the Lords of privacy and sanity for that saving grace. Monday came and sure enough, he was ready to walk in those doors, teach class, and oh, get a call about a $10,000 hospital bill in which he DIDN'T EVEN SPEND THE NIGHT IN. Seriously. The corrupt institution of healthcare. Maybe Stilinski might have a word or two to say about his own troubles.

Yet, Coach didn't hear a peep about the kid. Aside from seeing him for all of 30 seconds still whole and apparently sane (though that was questionable), with McCall of all people and then disappear once again. (Did Stilinski meet Meredith in Eichen House, because he seemed to know her.) It wasn't Stilinski he heard about the next day. Because Bobby was waiting...when Stilinski came to school nowadays, it was like a huge freaking sign that said something bad was going to happen and this kid's brain was going to take a turn for the worse. Instead, the next e-mail he got regarding a single student was about Stilinski's friend, that Argent girl.

Dead.

Attacked at night by some psychos apparently.

Nothing to do with Stilinski. Aside from association.

A vigil would be held for the girl that Friday evening and volunteers would be greatly appreciated. With nothing else to do besides track practice, Bobby signed on to help in a supervisory way. Make sure kids didn't get in and cause trouble. Slowly, throughout the week, things finally began returning to normal.

Grief roamed the halls like a viper, but the power had returned. Classes continued and the air of desperation plaguing McCall and his cohorts appeared to be replaced by the same feeling everyone had in the wake of a student and peer's death. Scratch the look on McCall's face when he was worried about Stilinski. This look seemed worse. He dared not ask the kid anything, now that McCall was dealing with two sources of pain: Stilinski and Argent. If anything, Bobby hoped to stay an ever present source of not-changing in this kid's life. With events as they were, everyone needed a little stability. Hell, he needed a little more stability. He was shot with an ARROW for god's sake. He didn't yell more or less than usual. He gave just as much insults as usually did. And he insulted Greenberg whenever he got the chance.

On Friday afternoon after classes, Bobby took the time to go over his lesson plans and grading papers. His computer dinged at him, notifying of an e-mail. Seeing it from the principal, Bobby opened it.

 _With the past few weeks being a source of stress within our student body and after receiving some good news, I felt it best to inform everyone as soon as possible. Sheriff Stilinski has called, telling me that Stiles will be returning to school on Monday. Stiles does not have a brain disease and is recovering from a combination of severe sleep deprivation, a mild resurgence of panic attacks, and stress following the events of Sheriff Stilinski's disappearance earlier this year. Stiles will need no extended services required upon his return. I hope I speak for everyone in that we are thankful Stiles is coming back to school healthy._

 _Have a wonderful weekend,_

 _Principal Thomas_

"Well, I'll be." Bobby leaned back in his chair as he read it once more. "Who knew stress can make you do crazy things?"

Stress effected people in different ways and Bobby wasn't thinking about PTSD. That was usually reserved for the most severe of chronic stress, a phrase a lot of people threw around, but never understood. Stilinski didn't have PTSD. A single terrifying episode that probably lasted a month, but exploded into a series of medical problems that happened to span two or so weeks wasn't PTSD.

But in his heart of hearts, Bobby was just glad he could go back to yelling at, ignoring, and calling him pathetic like usual. He really didn't have to care. He didn't have to know. And finally, making the decision to know wasn't biting him in the ass.

Glancing at the time, Bobby exited out of his programs and shut down the computer. It was Friday. Practice was over. Lesson planning done. And the weekend had finally come. There was the vigil to be held in a few hours, but even now, Bobby could feel the tension of the last few weeks slipping away. He'd see his students on Monday, hopefully in better spirits now that all the horrible things happening was dying down. He'd see McCall on Monday, hopefully more focused with the weekend to recover and now that he probably already knew his friend was out of the metaphorical woods. He'd see Stilinski on Monday too.

Shit.

He'd seen Stilinski on Monday. He knew it had been too quiet.

Bobby sighed as he picked up his jacket and work bag. Well, he couldn't have it all. A quiet school never fit Beacon Hills anyway. He yelled at kids enough that he prided himself on the fact their parents probably didn't need to do it when they got home.

Come Monday, that's exactly what he did in P.E. class.

"Nice to see you back for all of two days before Thanksgiving break, Stilinski."

"I like to plan my hospital visits accordingly, Coach," Stiles grinned that manic grin of his. Stiles gave a sidelong glance at McCall who just frowned at his friend. He was still pale, but the dark circles were gone and the same spastic energy coming back in full force.

Bobby groaned, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Don't remind me why I have you on the team. Just go."

"Aww, Coach, you do care." He could hear the laughter in Stilinski's voice.

"Shut it before I decide you're doing suicide runs. By YOURSELF." He paused, giving Stilinski that unwavering glare of his as the kid backed up, frowning, hands up in the "no offense" gesture. Bobby turned and raised his clipboard in the air, "Assess on the field!"

He did not care. He did not know. And Coach Bobby Finstock was very happy with that.

* * *

 **Author Notes:**

I did a lot of research for this one-shot.

1\. I pulled the timeline from teenwolfwiki, but looking at the date and the actual calendar for 2011, the days were one off, hence Stiles getting riddled on November 3rd and not November 2nd. And yes, Season 3 does actually take place in 2011, specifically October through November, and not when it aired in 2014. (I had to find this out because I actually didn't start watching Teen Wolf until 2 weeks ago aka late Jan 2016!)

2\. I couldn't find much on Amber Alerts in regards to sleepwalking cases, so I went with, coldest night of the year = possible hypothermia = imminent threat/danger scenario.

3\. In regards to the comments about middle schoolers: remember, this is fiction and not everything a character says reflects what the author believes. So, on that note, I have worked in several middle schools in America and South Korea. It's safe to say that pretty much most middle schoolers are all the same and there's a reason people and substitutes dread teaching them. Mostly it's the drama, not that any middle schooler is hated specifically, but the drama. (I also feel old now, so I'm going to stop talking about this.)

4\. I've done a fair bit of study into PTSD and I see it thrown around A LOT in fandoms and dude, do people not know what PTSD is. So, no. Stiles does not have PTSD.

5\. I am dearly hoping I didn't make Coach too sentimental.

6\. I know I have a problem with run-ons. I'm trying to break my addiction to words. It's very hard.

7\. I have never used the Lord's name in vain this much in my life. Coach's character is probably the only time I will ever, will have ever, and don't plan to again use this much cursing.


	2. AU Ending

**To Know or Not to Know**

 **by Nuuru**

* * *

 **Summary:** He didn't want to know. But he did. (Aww… Coach does care.)  
 **Rating:** T for language and perceived violence of an arrow and suicide runs.  
 **Characters:** Coach Bobby Finstock, Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Mr. Yukimura, (brief appearance of Deputy Parrish)  
 **Tags:** S03E18: Riddled, S03E19: Letharia Vulpina, Post-Season 3, AU FTD ending in Second chapter (always an optional read)

* * *

 **AU Ending**

Stilinski came in before school on Monday, hair disheveled and a serious look on his face Bobby Finstock didn't know could exist.

"Coach?" Stilinski knocked on the door frame, his other hand clutching his backpack strap over his shoulder.

"What is it, Stilinski?" Bobby sat up straighter as he watched Stilinski enter and stood across the desk from him. The kid hesitated, so unlike his usual behavior that Bobby knew that this was going nowhere good. "Spit it out."

Stilinski actually jolted. "I, uh…." He scratched his head then fumbled with his backpack, opening it. "I have a doctor's note."

Bobby didn't say anything, only quirking an eyebrow at Stilinski's behavior. He pulled out a surprisingly flat lettered envelope and handed it over to Bobby.

"I can't…uh, I don't think I can be on the team anymore Coach," Stilinski said and then mumbled afterward, "Not that it really matters anyway."

Because Stilinski didn't play. Bobby barely ever put him on the field. Because Stilinski sucked at lacrosse. But he was getting better at it. He needed about 10,000 more hours of practice, but he still played way better than some of the other losers he had on the team…especially the freshmen this year. God, they had such a horrible crop of players that came in.

Opening the letter, Bobby read it quickly:

 _Dear Coach Bobby Finstock,_

 _This letter is in regard to one of our patients, Stiles Stilinski. Stiles is a 17-year-old with Frontotemporal Dementia (FTD). FTD is a disease where parts of the brain atrophy. There are three types of FTD, Behavior variant frontotemporal dementia (bvFTD). The symptoms of the disease may include changes in personality, ability to concentrate, change in social skills, motivation, and reasoning. The second type of Primary Progressive Aphasia (PPA). PPA effects language skills, speaking, writing, and comprehension. The final type of FTD is Disturbance of motor (movement or muscle) function, specifically Corticobasal syndrome, which causes arms and legs to become uncoordinated or stiff. We are still determining the type of FTD that Stiles has._

 _We strongly encourage our patients to attend school on a regular basis. But it's important for you to know that FTD can interfere with the ability to perform some academic tasks or functions at school. Attached is a list of suggestions to help students with FTD, depending on the type._

 _An area of special concern is physical education class. We encourage patients with FTD to be as physically active as possible. However, it may be difficult for Stiles to participate in activities that place stress, especially in the case of limited motor function. It is recommended that Stiles not engage in a high-contact sports such as lacrosse in order to not encourage any possible risk of concussions or other head trauma. We hope you are able to help Stiles remain an active member of the class and school by modifying his movements or providing a safe, alternative activity._

 _If you have any questions, please feel free to contact us. By working together, I know we can support Stiles in having a positive learning experience._

Bobby glanced from the paper to Stiles. "Well, that's complete shit."

"Tell me about it," Stilinski quipped. "It's totally fun knowing your brain is going to shrivel up into something resembling a raisin."

"Now," Bobby grimaced at what he was about to ask. He really didn't want to. He really didn't. It was breaking his don't ask, don't need to know, don't want to know rule because knowing ended up with arrows in people apparently, particularly him. But this was FTD, not arrows. "Now, I just need to know how severe it is. You won't be all…well, you know, on the field."

He didn't even know what to expect in regards to symptoms and it seemed Stilinski might not know either, going by the letter.

"Well, right now, the doctors think it's still mild, but are unsure about the rate of progression, so I could have anywhere from two years to twenty. So… I don't know. We should know in a few weeks, maybe in three months, depending." Stilinski said it with such nonchalance Bobby wasn't sure if he was sure he was hearing the kid right. Too easy to hear someone talk about dying in maybe two years, especially a kid. Especially a kid like Stilinski who was always moving and motivated and doing something. A _Great kid. Zero Ability to focus. Super smart. Never takes advantage of his talents._ Now…this.

"Well, that's just beautiful." Bobby muttered. "And you have no idea which type it is, either?"

Stilinski sighed, licking his lips. "We think it's…bvFTD. It's what my mom had, when she, what she died of."

This was too much. Far too much.

But before Bobby could say one thing, Stilinski spoke again, "But if it gets as bad where I'm seeing delusions, I won't be in school long before that. Right now, I should be fine. It's all wait and see."

"I'm not taking you off the team, Stilinski." Bobby said, setting the letter down and giving Stilinski a square look.

"What?" Stilinski said, mouth dropping open. "But – Coach – I…"

"Shut it!"

Stilinski remained quiet, but his mouth remained open. Seriously, Bobby wondered how the kid didn't catch flies with how often he left his mouth open. Maybe it was a subconscious effort to preserve energy by always being prepared to never shut up.

"Sounds like nothing's going to change. You participate in practice, right?"

Stilinski nodded.

"And you're not on the field during games unless it's a dire emergency, correct?"

Stilinski nodded again.

"Then what's changing?"

Stiles glanced around before looking back at him, "Uh…nothing?"

"Exactly." Bobby grinned.

And Stiles grinned. The burden that seemed to weigh heavy on the kid's shoulders eased. "Thanks, Coach."

"Now go away. I don't want to see your ugly face until P.E. later." Bobby said, turning away to the paperwork on his desk.

"Will do, Coach," Stilinski said before walking out the door.

* * *

 **Author Notes:**

This was the scene/plot bunny that started this ENTIRE fic. Mostly it was the line, "It's totally fun knowing your brain is going to shrivel up into something resembling a raisin." And I mean no disrespect to Stiles' character or the fact that he lost his mom in this way. (Hence the research and a personal connection to losing a parent at a young age.)

This is also where I think Coach might have gotten way too sentimental. And Stiles OOC too. I blame on AU. Everything is AU! All the AUs! No. No. Not really.

That's it. There will be no more updates regarding this fic whatsoever. Please enjoy.


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